Whispers of the Dead
by Daalny
Summary: When the dead speak we should listen.
1. Chapter 1

It never got any easier, all the patients he had lost he remembered. Some haunted his dreams, asking him with forlorn voices why he couldn't save them. Young Scott Freeman was one such haunt. Scottie would be sitting on the floor smashing his toy trucks together asking Doctor Clarkson why he couldn't play with his brothers. Scottie had died of an overwhelming infection. A piece of wood had been lodged in his leg. Clarkson had been able to remove the foreign object however it had introduced infection. Richard had amputated Scottie's leg in an effort to save his life. It was not to be the infection was just too overwhelming. Over the course of two days the child's fever spiked causing a fit. After it had passed his blood pressure went down mercifully he lost consciousness. Coma set in he eventually passed Richard had given the child morphine to make sure he had a peaceful death. In the dreams the dead never shouted, or destroyed objects they merely asked, "Why? Why did I die?" All Richard could do was say he was sorry.

The worst were the dreams where the patients said nothing but merely followed him watching him do mundane things. He almost wished they would shout accusations at him or lob insults. For the past week his dreams had been haunted by Sybil Branson. In his dreams he would be washing dishes or signing charts and she would shuffle up to him. Her hair sweat soaked and clinging to her face, her skin grey for her heart was no longer pumping the warm red blood through her body. She would stand there and watch him. The blue of her nightgown seemed to highlight that fact that she was dead. Unblinking eyes just staring at him. In the dream he could never talk to her and when he started to he would wake.

The problem with Sybil is that he could have saved her. If she had had the cesarean she could be with her daughter and husband enjoying her life. Of all the people that he had cared for and had died she was one of the worst. He had delivered her from her mother into the realm of the living and had been beside her mother again when she had left the world of the living. As a young doctor he too had been overjoyed with the birth. Years of practice had allowed him to hide his emotions better but he remembered that night when he had guided the slippery pliant newborn from her mother.

He could also remember with clarity the night she died, seizing in a bed while her mother and husband wailed and pleaded. He had stood still in the room, looking from the corner of his eye as her heels and the back of her head held her up as the rest of her body seized. She had died badly. As a physician one always hopes for a good death. Needless suffering should be avoided, treated if possible so the patient as well as the family can cope with experience of death. Sybil Branson had left this world with her family watching in shock and disbelief. With Sybil struggling for breath everyone else held theirs in solidarity. Hoping that the collective burn of all their lungs would somehow coax Sybil to breathe. It wasn't to be. Now she wandered freely through peoples dreams.

Cora dreamt of Sybil too. However, in her dreams her daughter looked to be the epitome of health. She would laugh with her daughter and tell stories, Cora would awake with a smile on her face only for reality to rip it off.

Tom didn't sleep so he didn't dream of his wife. For him everything he looked at was reminder that she was gone. The house surrounding him and the baby in his arms. He spoke out loud to her. Carson had passed by his room and had heard him speaking to her. While the butler had dealings with Branson in the past his heart broke for the man.

Cora, Tom and Doctor Clarkson were all being sleep deprived. Lady Grantham kept her husband at arms length. She retreated to her room almost hourly, her bed seemed to mock her. Part of Cora wished to sleep so she could see Sybil again yet she knew the pain upon waking would be torturous. Clarkson busied himself with work, collapsing onto his overnight cot to snatch a few hours of sleep where he could. During the day when he slept for short bursts Sybil didn't invade his dreams. Nonetheless, at his age he couldn't catnap his way through his job as he could during his younger years.

Sybil for her part was trying to soothe those she loved and couldn't for they were refusing to listen to her. Her mother wasn't ready to listen to what she had to say and Doctor Clarkson was too consumed with guilt to hear her as well. Tom was different, he spoke to her and she knew that when he was ready to sleep she could speak to him.

Sybil had heard her mother's words to her

_We'll look after them. We'll look after them both, don't you worry about that._

She wasn't worried about that, she was worried about her father. The only way she knew papa to be cared for was by her mother.

She was also worried about the mental state of Doctor Clarkson. During the War she had gotten to know the man. They would eat lunch together when they could. He was one of the few that treated her like an equal. The others had been Mrs. Patmore and Daisy when she had asked for cooking lessons. They had gently scolded her over the kettle but had always addressed her as M'lady. Clarkson too didn't shy to her status as a Lady nor did he disrespect her either. She could still remember the praise for when she had caught a patient's fever to her blistering dressing down over Lt. Courtenay. When she was in uniform she was _Nurse_ Crawley.

He needed to know that she didn't blame him for her passing.

Doctor Clarkson was noticeably haggard. Isobel Crawley could see it. She thought that _everyone_ could see it and would do something so she focused her attention onto Cora. She invited her and the girls around for luncheon to try and and give them a respite from their grief. Edith and Mary had went to the garden while Cora and Isobel spoke.

"I'm not going to ask how you are, nor am I going to ask if there is anything I can do." Isobel delivered.

Cora's lips turned upward in a small smile, trust Isobel to say the right thing. Yes, there was nothing that anyone could do or say to make it all better. Getting out of the Abbey had helped, Cora spun her teacup in the saucer an old habit she thought she had broken.

"When your husband died did you dream of him?" Cora asked.

Isobel cocked her head to the side in amazement. "Yes, I dreamt of him often and over the years I will dream of him occasionally. He tells me things."

"What type of things." Cora asked her breath hitching.

Isobel put her own teacup down, "When he first died I remember I looked at his photo and I was so angry I spoke to it and said, 'I would give anything to have a fight with you.'Later that night I dreamt of him and he was shouting at me, in my dream I remember asking what have I done? He turned to me and said 'I'm giving you what you want.'"

Cora's eyes were bright, "Sybil is in my dreams and I tell her about everything but she doesn't talk to me."

Isobel felt a pang of hurt, with the death of a loved one everyone seems to scramble to find meaning. Isobel didn't know if Reginald had actually been visiting her or whether her own mind was so desperate for him that it had conjured up the dream. Nevertheless she found comfort in them.

"Maybe she doesn't have anything to say yet?" Isobel answered and Cora took some measure of comfort.

That night Cora dismissed Robert to the dressing room. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep hoping to have a dream of Sybil. The more she tried to sleep the more it eluded her. That night she didn't sleep.

Doctor Clarkson and the Downton Cottage Hospital were being overwhelmed, there was another surge of the Spanish Flu. Luckily the protocols from the last bout were still being observed. Patients were self isolating themselves so the spread was not as vast. Still, patients needed to be seen and the doctor was racing from home to home on his bicycle.

When he was finally done with his rounds he collapsed onto his cot. In his dreams Sybil was there. Again she followed him this time reaching out a hand which he took. He was able to speak to her, managing to say one word-Sorry.

At his apology she shook her head in the negative. He awoke shaking and sweating. He went to his washing basin leaning his head over it her poured the water over his neck and head.

Sybil's ability to enter dreams was slowly diminishing. Yet her message hadn't been delivered...she needed help.

Isobel Crawley was readying for bed, she had brushed her hair, donned her nightgown and was reading a book. After dutifully reading her chapter she dimmed the lamp and pulled up the covers.

She dreamt of Crawley House and found it odd. She went from room to room until she came to the drawing room. Inside sitting comfortably in the armchair by the window was Reginald Crawley dressed impeccably in his brown suit.

"You're dead." Isobel delivered.

He nodded in confirmation and rose from the chair. He held out his hand and Isobel was afraid, was she going to join him? She didn't want to die just yet. Reginald smiled before beckoning her with his fingers and she went to him. On the mantle was a picture taken during the War of herself and Doctor Clarkson. She had been wearing her nursing blues and he had been dressed in his Army uniform. Reginald pointed to the doctor and told her, "Help him."


	2. Chapter 2

When Isobel awoke she felt uncertain. Did she dream about Reginald since she and Cora had discussed the dreams involving loved ones or was it a genuine message? Erring on the side of caution she prepared a basket of food. Matthew would be coming at lunch time to fetch her for a luncheon at the Abbey. She would ask to swing by the hospital to deliver it and hopefully assess Richard. The hospital was busy and she could see that he was tired. When he noticed her he moved towards her.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit busy today" He said waving at the nearly full ward.

She lifted the basket, "Well I'm not here for a chat I just wanted to make sure you had something to sustain you."

He ducked his head at her words and took the basket from her and went to put it in his office before returning to her in the main ward. She wanted to speak to him but she knew Matthew was idling outside and then a nurse came up to Doctor Clarkson for clarification of his orders. Isobel knew she had to leave. Reginald's words were eating at her but she had to go.

The Abbey was slowly coming out of it's mourning. Nonetheless, Cora still wore black and the mood between her and Lord Robert was frosty. Cora sat at the table staring at her empty plate, she was tired. Emotionally she was tired but she had been able to sleep. Now she was physically tired. Sleep had eluded her last night like a slippery fox on a hunt. No matter what she tired she could not enter the realm of dreams. She looked at Isobel, the woman seemed puzzled. She would talk to her after luncheon.

The motions were went through. Matthew and Mary were desperate with their small talk to try and draw Cora and Robert together. Matthew was even amazed that his mother wasn't picking up the subtle hint to talk.

Everyone picked at their food, no doubt when the table would be cleared Mrs. Patmore would have a meltdown.

The men left leaving the women together. Naturally groups formed. Edith and Mary in one corner and Cora and Isobel in the other. Isobel sat next to Lady Grantham on a small settee, "Has she talked to you yet?"

Cora sighed she was glad that Isobel remembered their conversation, "I couldn't sleep last night. You know I was I looking forward to it, I had made peace with the fact if she didn't talk at least I would get to see her. Is that gone too? Have I lost my baby forever?"

Isobel felt gutted, the pain this woman was feeling was palpable. She kept her own mouth shut. She wouldn't tell her about her dream of Reginald for it would probably upset her since she had a dream about a lost loved one.

That night Robert was once again found in his dressing room. He missed his wife, he missed their bed. It was uncommon for husband and wife to share a bed yet their marriage was uncommon. Robert got into the small bed and wondered would he be relegated here for the rest of his life?

O'Brien was quiet as she helped Lady Cora out of her clothes and get ready for bed. While O'Brien was outspoken she knew when to keep her mouth shut around her lady. As Cora climbed into bed she missed the presence of her husband. Turning on her side she shut her eyes.

The garden, they were sitting outside. The sun was shining and the breeze carried the scent of flowers. Cora was talking to Sybil about upcoming gatherings at the Abbey. Her attention was caught when Sybils hand rose to fuss with her hat.

"What, what is it?" Cora asked.

"Stop this." Sybill managed.

"Stop what?" Cora asked in a small voice.

Another voice joined the conversation, it was a small boy around the age of five. He had seemed to materialize from thin air. He sat on the grass with some toy trucks. Cora had no idea who he was yet Sybil smiled at him warmly and he too smiled back. The boy looked up at Cora, "Stop this, don't talk to her, talk to him."

Sybil leveled a stare at her mother, "Talk to him."

"Who?" Cora asked half wanting to know and half wanting not to know the answer.

Both Sybil and the boy spoke in unison, "Talk to him."

Cora woke and wished Robert were beside her to hold her.

Isobel had no lady's maid to ready her for bed. She had bathed on her own, brushed her hair and teeth and put on her nightgown. Her bed called and she answered its call.

Downton Cottage Hospital was in front of her, the door open. She walked in and found the hospital empty. The beds were freshly made with supplies stacked on the small table next to them. It was strange to have it so empty, there was no whispering. No footfalls of nurses. Why was she here?

She walked along the corridor towards the office. If anyone knew why the hospital was empty it would be Doctor Clarkson. Just like the ward the office was empty. She heard footsteps and turned, it was Reginald. Once again he motioned for her to come to him, still wearing his brown suit. She didn't take his hand but she came next to him.

"Help him." He said.

Isobel remembered the day, she had only delivered food she had no clue if he had eaten it or even slept! "I will."

In the morning she made another offering and went to the hospital. He managed a small smile when he saw her. He took the items from her and went to put them in his office. Out of habit she followed. Being inside the office triggered her dream and she shivered. Richard looked awful and she knew it was deeper than not sleeping. The loss of Sybil was black cloud following the inhabitants of Downton. She shucked off her jacket and hung it up before retrieving her white apron.

He looked relieved and in gratitude grabbed the first thing he could and devoured it. With her by his side he let his guard down, for she was well capable of handling the ward. Not being stretched so thin he was able to relax and catch a decent breath. As the night-shift came in he gently pulled her aside, "Thank you for helping me."

Isobel prepared for bed as she normally did, she was closer to finishing her book. If she continued with one chapter a night she would be done by Friday. The lamp was dimmed and she pulled up the covers.

Again she was inside the hospital, it was empty. All the beds were made yet there were no patients in them. Why was she here? On instinct she went towards the office, if she could find Richard he could tell her what to do. The door was wide open and she could see his desk, at first glance the office was empty but upon further inspection she saw a hand on the floor. Racing towards it she found Richard slumped on the floor behind his desk. As she rolled him over onto his back she could see a gaping wound to his chest. She emitted a low cry and a voice beside her ear whispered, "Help him."

She turned and saw Reginald once again in his brown suit. She launched from the floor and retrieved a towel to place on Richard's chest wound to apply pressure. Reginald squatted beside her shaking his head, "No Isobel, I told you to help him.


	3. Chapter 3

Isobel's eyes snapped open, her nightgown clung to her body awkwardly. Disgusted she pulled back the covers and went the bathroom trying unsuccessfully to rearrange the garment. The clock showed the hour was a little after two. She grabbed a flannel and wet it with cool water. She pulled her nightgown off and began to wipe away the sweat from her body. A fresh nightgown was found and put on. She didn't know how to react, her dream wasn't truly a nightmare it was just damned unsettling. She got back into bed favoring the other side that she normally did not sleep on. She fell into a light doze it had the benefit of not granting dreams. However, it would also not grant her true rest.

Across the village Richard Clarkson was in his own bed. As soon as report had been given he had meandered to his cottage. Tonight he would brave his own bed and not his overnight cot. He stood next to his bed and regarded it, while it was a rectangular object and comfortable it seemed more in line with a bed of nails. He flung back the covers, was he expecting to find a snake or another creature in his bed?

He wouldn't bother with a medical journal or whisky. He exhaled sharply before scrubbing a hand over his face. The bed was his enemy and he was facing it. All he could do was whisper, "please" before he got into bed and closed his eyes.

He was on his bicycle pedaling through the village. Behind him were the rolling green hills and lush farmland. It would be a few miles before he came to the village center. He passed wooden fences and waited as a herd of sheep crossed before him. Above him the clouds were gathering overhead, black and heavy with moisture, it was going to rain, it was going to piss it down! He could hear the first drops drop against his hat and the shoulders of his coat. The pace of the drops increased as did the sound, it was roaring! Before him the road seemed to swell with water and he knew he would have to ditch his bicycle in a safe place and ride out the storm. There was stone building near him with a thatch roof overhanging at an angle. He could prop his bicycle against the wall and stay dry under the overhang. Dismounting he grabbed the handlebars and rushed towards the building. The bicycle was secured and he pressed himself against the brick wall watching the force of the rain. He was caught up in the storm until he felt a weight on his forearm. He turned and saw Sybil. She was not in the blue gown in which she labored and died. Instead she was in her nursing uniform with her hair secured in a white kerchief. On her arm the red cross seemed to glow. Her stare wasn't piercing as it normally was in his dream, she seemed to be assessing him. He sucked in a breath, "I'm sorry" he whispered.

When she sighed and shook her head in the negative he began to chant, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He didn't know he was crying until Sybil's other hand brushed his tears from his cheeks and then held out her hand so he could see them glistening on her fingertips. Sybil then placed one finger on her lips in a motion for him to be quiet, "shhhh." She soothed. His chanting stopped and he quieted. He couldn't look at her for he feared what he would see. Lightening struck near them and he felt himself leave.

When Richard woke for a moment he didn't know what was real. Cora, Isobel and Richard all watched the sunrise over Downton. Sleep had been abandoned. All of them needed to examine what had transpired in their dreams.

Isobel was terrified that something had happened to Richard, was he hurt, had he done himself harm? Reginald had been a physician the fact that he had not aided her in the dream was unsettling. For a wound like the one Richard had, pressure to stem the bleeding was needed. Yet he had just sat beside her shaking his head as if she was using the wrong color of paint on a canvass. What else could she have done? What was she supposed to do to help him?

Cora had a good idea as to the him that Sybil and the child had been referring to. She had spoken to Robert in the days after Sybil's death. A yes or a no. She had politely told him to stay out of her room all the while her nose was buried in a book. Had she even looked at him? Who was the boy? Sybil knew him or seemed to know him. She didn't recognize him yet she hadn't been around young children in good while. His clothes were old, was it someone from her own forgotten childhood? The sun couldn't rise fast enough. She wanted to speak with Isobel.

Richard was feeling even worse, he had never married and had no children of his own. Sybil had been like a daughter to him. He had guided her in nursing and she had supported him with the convalescent home. They had had some cracking conversations of medicine and ethics during the war. With her senseless loss he felt adrift. Now in his dreams she was comforting him? It was another reminder of what a sweet girl she had been. A sweet girl that had died a needless death. He had fought for her, against Sir Philip Tapsell, against her own Father. Even when he had been all but dismissed and the baby born he stayed. He had injected her with atropine in a vain attempt to keep her alive. When she began complaining of headache he quickly readied the morphine. Even in her state she could see the syringe and knew its contents. She had pounded her forehead with her hand before voicing her pain, the morphine hadn't touched the pain and yet he had given her a large dose!

Should he have shouted at more people? Should he have dragged her to the hospital himself? Should he have given her a larger dose of morphine to spare her the agony? He let these scenarios play in his head, he let his anguish be a form of penance. What bothered him was that in his dreams Sybil seemed to be offering him absolution.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as the light allowed Isobel left Crawley House. The hospital loomed and was well lit. As her status as a Nurse and with her status as Mother of the future Earl of Grantham she was granted access. It was comforting to hear the whispers of nurses it was a welcome change from the eerily stillness of the dream. Nonetheless, she had to gather her courage to knock on the door. As her knuckles made contact the door opened somewhat. She pushed it with her forefinger and went inside. Slumped over his desk was Richard Clarkson. She raced towards him, her keen eyes searching for a wound. There was none, his color was good and he was breathing. Just for her own comfort she reached out and touched his cheek. At her contact he awoke.

"Isobel" he rasped and she was touched by the tone of his voice.

"Are you alright?" She asked softly.

Scrubbing a hand over his face he shook his head. "Haven't been sleeping much."

Isobel scoffed in agreement, "With the second round of the Spanish Flu I would agree!"

His defenses were down, "It's not that."

Immediately the jokes were set aside, "What is it? Can you tell me?"

"Dreams, I keep dreaming of Sybil." He muttered.

A cold wind blew through Isobel. It was one of the dangers of being in the medical profession that wasn't taught in medical school. She wanted to reach out and hold him and her fingers twitched to do so when a nurse came in for authorization on medication.

Richard gave her a watery smile before rising to help the nurse.

Isobel then knew that this was what Reginald had meant by help. Richard didn't need another set of hands to take the load off of him in the hospital. He needed a pair of hands to take a load off in his life!

She would ask him to dinner tonight, she would command it! She grabbed a clean piece of paper to write her demand. She then left the hospital to make the arrangements at Crawley House.

Richard was sad to her go, he was still engaged the nurse as he watched her exit. He went back into his office to retrieve a chart. On top of the stack was piece of stationery with the Downton Cottage Hospital emblem. He knew the flowing script of Isobel Crawley.

_Dinner tonight at Crawley House. No need to dress or any formalities. Just come. I will brook no refusal._

He folded the piece of paper and tucked it into a pocket. He wouldn't refuse her.

As Isobel returned to Crawley House it was quiet Mr. Molesley was trying to divide his time between Matthew at the Abbey and herself at Crawley House. Isobel had admired this and after catching him out of breath from having ran told him to stop. While Matthew was at the Abbey he was to stay there as his valet.

Isobel breezed into the kitchen. Mrs. Bird was visiting her sister in Manchester. However, the cook had not left Crawley house bare. The pantry and larder was stocked and she had made an assortment of pork pies and other savories that could be stored and eaten later.

Dinner while simple would be filling and her mother had told her once, "It's not what you serve, but how you serve it."

Cora picked at the breakfast O'Brien delivered to her. "Has Lord Robert awoken yet?"

"Yes, M'Lady he went into York." The maid informed.

Cora's memory blazed as the memory of him telling her came back to her. She would have to wait to do what Sybil had asked. At least it would give her some time to think. "O'Brien, I'll be going to see Mrs. Crawley today. Can you find something suitable?"

O'Brien perked up, Lady Cora hadn't shown any interest in anything. She rushed away to find a dress.

Cora was surprised when Isobel answered the door but quickly remembered that Molesley was at the Abbey. Isobel ushered her inside, "Mrs. Bird is visiting her sister but I can make us some tea."

"Let me help you" Cora declared. They found themselves in the kitchen. Cora had been in here before, feeding the soldiers that had returned home and were hungry and out of work. The kettle was filled, the tea was measured and placed in the pot.

"I dreamt of Sybil again." Cora said as she spun her teacup again.

"Did she speak to you?" Isobel asked.

"Yes" Cora said simply.

Isobel beamed, "That's what you wanted, aren't you happy?"

"What if I don't do what she asks?" Cora whispered.

Isobel thought of her own dreams involving Reginald, "Then she might just keep asking."

While the prospect of dreaming of Sybil again was tempting Cora was disturbed by the nature of her dreams with Sybil. She resolved to do what her departed daughter had asked. She returned to the Abbey to await her husband. She spent the evening downstairs so she could meet him when he came in.

"Hello Robert" She said trying to inject warmth into her voice.

"Cora" He delivered coolly.

She resisted the urge to scowl, she had been icy with him for days. He brushed past her and went to the library. She could hear the clink of ice cubes as they hit the cut crystal of the tumbler, no doubt the _glug_ she heard was whisky.

"How was York?" She asked.

Robert then launched into the dealings of the day. Meeting with solicitors and accountants. At this Cora did scowl, was business all he thought about?

Robert slammed his tumbler down, the ice launching out.

"You asked me." He said curtly.

"You just don't care, it hasn't affected you at all." She cocked her head to the side as if something had just occurred to her. "You weren't affected the first time."

At this Robert's eyes flashed, he stood his fists clenched at this sides. He forced himself to relax, unclenching his fists, before telling her in a calm voice, "Come with me."

She followed him with her arms crossed over her chest as they made their way to his dressing room. He opened a drawer and removed a small box. Cora recognized it as a jewelry box, did he really think a trinket would fix everything?

She opened the box with force and saw a ring made of gold. On the top of the ring was four stones. Three of them she recognized as the birthstones of Mary, Edith and Sybil the fourth was a garnet. She then realized that this was the stone of the baby she had lost. If she had carried the child to term it would have been born in January. "I ordered that the day after Dr. Clarkson told me the news of your pregnancy. After you fell I didn't think to cancel the order. When it arrived I kept it, I didn't know if giving it to you would have been wrong. There are times that I take it out and look at it wondering what our lives would be like."

Cora saw tears welling in his eyes. The only times she had seen her husband cry was when he thought he had failed her. How he had wept over the bad investment of her fortune sprang to mind. She had truly thought he hadn't cared since he had shown no emotion when it came to the miscarriage and now with Sybil. She had been wrong, he was trying to spare her. She looked at the ring again and found it had become blurry. She was crying, deep heavy sobs at the realization that her husband did care and that he missed Sybil and their unborn child just as much as she. He reached for her and she clung to him, the small bed holding them up as they cried over their loss.


	5. Chapter 5

Isobel had cut up the pork pie into wedges and had placed them on a plate with some salad vegetables. When Richard rang the bell she greeted him at the door, in his hand was a bouquet.

He held them out to her and she exhaled softly, "Oh, these are lovely."

Richard felt warm, Isobel was genuine, she could no more fake an emotion than a blackbird trying to be white. She waved him inside and he felt relief. Crawley House was warm, his office had a draft to it. They sat and tucked into dinner. Ate the rate he was placing food into his mouth she was certain that he hadn't had a decent meal in days. A treacle tart followed, this was Isobel's weakness. Mrs. Bird would make this whenever she went to visit her sister or when she spent a night away she considered it a form of apology for leaving.

With their stomachs full they moved to the drawing room. Instead of coffee they she had a sherry while he had a measure of whisky. They sat together on the small settee Isobel took a sip of sherry letting the warmth give her courage, "Are you sleeping?"

Inhaling through his nose Richard weighed his options, he could ignore her question and claim it was none of her business. Or he could talk about his dreams of involving Sybil. Generally speaking of dreams would be done while reading tea-leaves with a slew of women. Isobel was different, and more than that he trusted her. "I dream about the patients that I couldn't save. Generally it's right after they have died and they ask me why I couldn't save them. Sometimes they don't speak they just follow me." He took another swig of his drink to steel himself against the memories. "I can speak to them, all I can say is 'I'm Sorry.' they don't react to this they merely stare at me. Sybil is different."

"how?" Isobel squeaked.

He sighed "I don't know it's as if she doesn't want to hear it."

Isobel didn't need to pry, Matthew had told her everything. She knew that Richard had done all he could and more! "I think in this case she's right, you don't need to tell her you're sorry. You did everything you could."

Richard bowed his head over his glass chewing on his bottom lip trying to keep his emotions in check.

Isobel rose and went to the drinks table wiping her own face as she went. She grabbed the decanter and came back to refill his glass. After that she sat back down and they spoke of more mundane things. Isobel wanted to tell him about her own dreams but she didn't, tonight was about him not her.

The hours passed and the two of them stayed on the settee, when sleep claimed them they were unaware of it.

At the Abbey Cora and Robert had left the dressing room and were in Lady Cora's bedroom. Robert had missed this, the feel of his wife, the scent of her sheets. He held one another as they did on his small bed. Cora had placed the ring on her right ring finger. When Cora fell into sleep Sybil was there. They were outside again at a garden party. Sybil beamed at her mother, proud that she had done what she had asked. A small voice grabbed the attention of both of them. It was the small boy, he was standing near the sculpted hedge holding one of his toy trucks. With a wide smile on her face Sybil nodded to him and stood up. Cora panicked, "No, don't go."

"Scottie and I must go" Sybil delivered gently

"Please" Cora begged.

Sybil looked at her mother warmly, "You still have me, that won't ever change. When you really need me you'll see me again."

Cora watched as her daughter extended her hand and the boy named Scottie rushed up and placed his own in hers. "Who is he?" she asked.

Sybil smiled as she tousled his hair, "A friend, I have friends here who are going to help me fix things."

Cora then watched as her daughter and Scottie walked off the manicured lawn of the estate.

The drawing room lamps had dimmed from lack a fuel an hour ago yet Isobel and Richard didn't notice. He was in the corner of the settee his head resting on the edge. Isobel was cuddled beside him her head resting on his chest. While their bodies were still their eyelids flickered with the movement of dreams.

Richard was in Edinburgh, he recognized the streets. He passed by the market stalls where barkers were shouting their bargains. His bag was heavy in his hand and he shifted it to his other. There was a man before him that seemed out of place. His head kept turning as if looking for something or someone.

"Can I help?" He asked.

"Oh, I seem to be a bit lost" The man answered.

Richard noted from his accent the man was English and dressed in a Brown suit.

"What are you looking for?" inquired Richard.

"The Royal Infirmary." The man answered.

Richard wanted to laugh, trust an Englishman to miss one of the biggest and oldest buildings in Scotland. The laugh died in his throat, "Are you hurt?" he asked his tone switching to his more formal physician's tone. His eyes raking over the gentleman looking for signs of injury or sickness.

The man in the brown suit grabbed his arm and leaned in, "I'm not but you are."

"Excuse me?" Richard asked.

Richard watched as the man's eyes moved towards his chest and he looked down to find that blood was seeping through his shirt and jacket.

"I suggest you find a nurse." The man said before releasing his grip and leaving.

Richard moaned in his sleep and turned his head.

Isobel was once again inside the Downton Cottage hospital steadily making her way to the office. Richard was once again on the floor bleeding from his chest. She applied pressure with a towel and once again heard Reginald's voice by her ear, "Help him."

"What do you think I'm doing?" She cried as she applied more pressure onto the wound.

A clattering behind them had both turning to see what it was. Isobel saw what had made the noise it was a toy truck. A small boy shuffled up to them and knelt beside her. She watched as his small hand brushed against Richard's forehead before he bestowed a kiss on it. At the touch Isobel could feel the heart underneath her hands grow steady and strong.

"That's how you help him." The boy declared.


	6. Chapter 6

Richard was the first one to wake, the soft weight of Isobel against him made him smile. His dream was unsettling yet it had been the first that didn't include Sybil. Perhaps discussing the dreams with Isobel had helped? He considered what she had said, that perhaps Sybil didn't want his apology.

Isobel's head was resting over his heart, perhaps it was the pressure from her head that had caused his dream? She was still sleeping and he wasn't going to move from this spot.

He watched her, there was something so odd seeing Isobel sleep. This woman was a bundle of energy always moving. Seeing her surrender in sleep was humbling. Even at her age she was a stunning woman. He had been attracted to her when he had first met her. Over the years his attraction to her had deepened. If he were honest, truly honest he was in love with her. Love was something that Richard Clarkson didn't do well. It wasn't that he wasn't capable, far from it. For him love was hard tried.

While his own parents had a strong marriage they didn't wed out of love. They wed out of necessity it was a boon that love had blossomed in the marriage and from it sprang his siblings and himself. His studies had been his first real passion and he had devoted his life to medicine. He hadn't been a monk while studying yet he had never poured all of his passion into courting since he wasn't ready to take a wife yet. The years passed and he went from Junior Doctor to General Practitioner to the Chief Surgeon of the Downton Cottage Hospital. As for women, he hadn't met the one. Isobel Crawley was the one he was sure of it.

Feeling bold he reached out to brush his finger over her forehead, the motion was twofold. First he could touch her and the second he could sweep away some stray hair. As he reached out his heart rate increased. His fingertip brushed her skin and in her sleep her head turned, she sighed before whispering "Reginald."

All the hope Richard had disappeared like a drop of rain falling onto a freshly ploughed field.

Why should this be any different? His mind rallied. All the successes he had couldn't compare to his losses. While he had saved so many patients it was the ones he lost that he dreamt about. For years he had kept women at arms length and know it was being returned. Carefully he slid out from underneath Isobel. Hoping to keep her asleep. However, with the loss of contact and his warmth she roused.

"What time is it?" She murmured blearily.

"A little after six." He delivered, "I must go."

The last vestiges of sleep clung to her yet she stood her intent to escort him to the door. He moved quickly leaving Isobel confused.

Richard left Crawley House as quick as he could before going to his own cottage to ready himself for his day. After morning rounds he announced that he would visit the patients from the Flu. The nurses were surprised yet didn't show it. If the head of the hospital wanted to see his patients no one was going to stop him. He grabbed his bicycle and began pedaling to his first patient.

Isobel arrived at the hospital to find that Richard had gone out. Her confusion was morphing into worry. What had happened? Last night seemed to be a breakthrough of sorts, he had spoken about Sybil. She then stopped, had he dreamt about her? Was that why he left so abruptly? Her jacket was quickly hung on the coat tree. With her apron on she offered her services charge nurse. Isobel busied herself with the autoclave, removing sterile instruments to begin filling it with soiled ones.

Richard had pedaled for seven miles going the furthest distance first. His patient was recovering well. Neighbours had been alternating days to make sure that Mr. Burton was well attended. Apart from mild weight loss Mr. Burton was on the mend.

With the visit over Richard climbed back onto his bicycle only to find the the skies had clouded over. His next patients was three miles away. After half the distance was traversed rain drops hit the shoulders of his coat. He had cycled in the rain before but this rain was unrelenting. The country road was really just a euphemism for dirt worn track with stones in it. He needed to stop, there was an out-building near. As he dismounted he suddenly remembered his dream with Sybil. He had been caught in a storm then too!

He couldn't just stand in the rain! Forcing himself to move he guided his bicycle along before placing next to the stone wall and taking refuge under the overhang. The similarities to his dream were uncanny. He kept his eyes forward, he silently hoped that Sybill wouldn't somehow materialize next to him. He thought of his most recent dream with the one with the man in the Brown suit. Would he meet this man? Would he become injured?

The rain was bringing with it cold and he shivered. His breath was visible and he found words were tumbling from his lips as he spoke seemingly to no one. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for all of it. Your daughter is doing well, checked her myself. She's on the percentage method now. We talked about it once. You're right to haunt to me. All I deserve is ghosts."

The rain began to let up and the clouds began to thin. Richard had to walk his bike through the mud before he came to better drained area that wouldn't impede his wheels.

All of his visits revealed that his patients were recovering. The Spanish Flu had taken many and its resurgence had frightened all. Even with this victory Richard felt no comfort. There would be another death and would it bring forth a new dream?

Isobel herself was lost in her thoughts of her dream.

_After the small blonde boy had kissed Richard's forehead and announced that was how she would fix Richard she was stunned! Yet she could feel his heart beat grow strong she had turned to Reginald. She wanted to ask, "What and why?" Her face must have shown him all her emotions._

_"__You love him" Reginald said softly._

_She shook her head swiftly, too swiftly, yet her hands were still on Richard's chest._

_"__You love him." Reginald said again._

_Isobel turned away from her late husband to look at the man laying on the floor. Yes, she loved him and she nodded minutely._

_"__We have to go now." A youthful voice informed. Isobel knew it had been the small blonde who had uttered it._

_Reginald smiled warmly at the boy, "Yes, Scottie. Give me a moment."_

_Beneath Isobel's hands she could feel Richard's heartbeat begin to weaken. "What do I do?"_

_"__Love him." Reginald and Scottie answered in unison._

_She watched as her former husband extended his forefinger which Scottie's small hand clutched. Isobel smiled for it was the same way that Matthew and Reginald had walked together when Matthew's hand and been too small to hold all of Reginald's. Her son had simply wrapped his hand around one of his father's fingers. Their footsteps let her know that they were near the office door. "He's a good man Isobel, you need to take care of him." She then heard whispering but couldn't make it out. Reginald then added,"Take care of him for all of us."_

_As the pair left she whispered, "Goodbye Reginald" before she had woken up._

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, my old computer died so my husband bought me a new one for my birthday. More to come, don't worry klswhite. Reviews let me know what you like and what you don't. I'm no mind reader.**


	7. Chapter 7

Isobel hadn't registered at the time that Richard had damn near fled her home. Had he had a dream? She busied herself in the hospital making herself useful trying to keep her mind occupied and from straying.

Richard's last flu patient had taken the longest to recover. She had just been getting over a cold when she had been struck by the flu. She had little to no reserves to begin with and he had thought that she would be measured for a coffin. Remarkably she had survived, yet her recovery was long and arduous. She always apologized to him during a check-up.

Normally Doctor Clarkson could shrug it off, or simply ignore it. However, today was different.

"Why do you feel it necessary to apologize?" He asked softly.

"For I knew this would happen?" She said wringing her hands.

"Ball or cards?" He asked off hand.

"Pardon me?" She said weakly.

"Crystal Ball or Tarot Cards, which one did you use?"

She ducked her head, "I had a dream I would get flu."

Richard's hands stilled "Oh?"

"A month before this I had a dream that I would get the Spanish Flu. I remember my dream felt so real." She said shaking her head.

"Had anyone around you had flu?" He inquired.

The woman's head wrinkled in thought, "Yes! You tended to our Uncle."

Carefully Richard began placing objects back into his bag, "That's probably why, it was on your mind."

His patient relaxed somewhat and he patted her shoulder in comfort. As he left the house he noted that the sun was starting to kiss the tops of the hills. It was just turning dark when his bicycle stopped rattling on the dirt road to become quiet rolling on the paved road of the village.

Richard was anxious, while little was known of dreams he didn't think that they were prophetic yet he shudder to think of his own. The hospital loomed and he dismounted to enter through the side entrance. He locked up his bicycle for the night before going through the green door. The ward was quiet, a few nurses were milling about. The shift would be changing soon leaving little more than a skeleton crew.

He hung up his coat on the coat tree in the corner of his office. As his arms came down he winced, his chest hurt. The logical portion of his brain rallied that was from all the bicycle riding he had done. The stiff arm position no doubt making the muscles of his chest wall ache. Nonetheless, the illogical portion of his brain was shouting that it was about to suffer a heart attack or some other condition that he had in his dream. The anxiety in him was building, and in frustration he grabbed his stethoscope. He went to listen to his chest only to realize that the diaphragm couldn't penetrate through his thick shirt. Not wanting to be caught as a fool he sat down on the floor behind his desk before opening his shirt and placing the diaphragm on his chest.

So absorbed he was listening to his own heartbeat he didn't hear the door open.

Isobel had been in the storeroom for the afternoon and had not noticed the setting of the sun. It was time she went home. As she walked through the ward she was tried not to think of her dream. As she neared the office she pushed on the door. The office was empty, when she went to the coat tree to hang up her apron she noted that Richard's coat and hat were there. She turned and nearly screamed when she saw a hand on the floor behind the desk.

She dashed towards him only to find him alive behind the desk. She knelt beside him and covered his hand with her own as if confirming that he was _alive _and well.

"Do you have pain? Shortness of breath?" She asked.

Richard removed the headset of the stethoscope before taking a deep breath, "No, none of those things. I'm just being an old woman."

Isobel seemed to crumble and tears sprang to her eyes and before he knew what was happening he found his arms filled with Isobel Crawley.

It was his turn to ask, "What is it?"

Her face was buried in his neck but he heard her, "I had a dream like this, I found you behind your desk and you had a gaping chest wound. I tried applying pressure and I shouted for help but there was no one to help me."

Richard's hand was gliding up and down her back in comfort. "And when you saw me just now you thought it had come true."

"yes" she whimpered.

Richard felt elated that she cared for him but he quickly remembered the whispered name of her husband on her lips.

"Dreams are strange that way." He murmured back.

She hiccuped and nodded into his neck and shoulder before moving back so she could see him. While his mouth was turned upward in a reassuring smile his eyes held pain. It was then that she realized that the chest wound was actually a broken heart and that she knew how to fix. Leaning forward she pressed her lips to his. Again the logical part of his brain told him that this was perfect, what he had wanted. The illogical part was screaming that she was only doing this out of pity that her heart still belonged to her husband.

As gently as he could he pushed her away.

"Don't' you want me?" She asked her voice tinged with hurt.

"Oh, Isobel" He brushed the hair out of her eyes as he had done this morning. "I want you, but I want you to want me for you."

Her eyes narrowed, "What makes you think I don't?"

"This morning I woke up before you and I touched your face, you said your husband's name. You still love him." Richard informed.

"Yes, he was in my dream but I was telling him goodbye. I love you. In fact I shouted at him my dream because he wasn't' helping me save you. Just sat there as I held your chest together."

Richard exhaled sharply. Isobel _loved _him. He felt his heart hammer in his chest and the words the man in the brown suit came back to him.

_I suggest you find a nurse._

He had found a nurse, the most capable, the one who could and would save him. It was his turn to press his lips to hers and she moaned happily. Perhaps this act could provide her with a good memory of this place instead of the haunting vision of her dream. When he pushed her away again she understood why and didn't resist. Isobel went to fetch his coat while he put his shirt back together. They knew that they would leave together and he would go where she led him. They left by the side entrance, Isobel's hand was warm in his as they walked together. He found himself being pulled along and saw that he was being led to Crawley House.

The large house was quiet, Mrs. Bird was still at her sister's house in Manchester. Richard found he couldn't keep his hands off of Isobel. He held her hand, or wrapped an arm around her waist. He was starved for touch and now he was being presented with a gourmet meal. They climbed the stairs together before stopping inside her bedroom. She turned in his arms so she could see his face.

"I love you" She wanted to tell him again, to let him know that it was the truth.

"And, I love you and I haven't done this in a very long time." He said as his head inclined towards the direction of the bed.

Isobel laughed, "You think I have?"

Richard laughed with her, it was what they needed to diffuse the awkward tension between them. The sexual tension still burned fiercely.

It had been a long time since Richard had known the pleasures of a woman's body. His spirit was willing but he had doubts about his flesh. Isobel too, had her concerns. A corset was able to push up where needed, push in where wanted and conceal everything else! What would Richard think when the busks came apart?

Since Mrs. Bird and Mr. Molesley were not present Richard squatted down in front of the fire. His hands crumpling up newspaper for kindling. Seeing him engaged in this domesticated task made her realize that she rarely saw him in this milieu. She had seen him plenty as a physician and as a soldier but rarely as a man. She hoped within the hour she would see him as a lover. Richard knew she was behind him and and he could feel a difference. Whether they made love or not she was his and he was hers. The fire was beginning was beginning to grow and it popped loudly. The sound was akin to a starting pistol and Richard rose to see Isobel who had been watching him.

He moved towards her, "What do you want?"

"you" The word was simple yet it conveyed many different meanings.

His nose nuzzled against hers, before moving to the side so he could kiss her mouth. He had always marveled at kissing. Besides the tips of the fingers and soles of the feet, lips have no hair. Not having hair allows for the lips to transmit more information to the brain, lips can gauge temperature, feel finer texture and lips had the ability to kiss back!

Isobel's mouth was warm and giving, she didn't shy away from him. The fire popped again and he pulled her closer to him. Isobel could feel the solid wall of Richard's chest but she longed to feel his skin, to feel the warmth his body could radiate. Her hands rose and she pushed off his jacket. If he thought she was being too forward he didn't say so. Truth be told he was thrilled that she being active. Following her lead his own hands roamed over her back. He wanted to feel the topography of her body and also figure out where the buttons were!

Between the two of them clothes began to pile on the floor. His eyes swept over her chest as he took in her corset. His hands went on either side of the busks before he popped open the first hook. The next hooks came quicker before the fabric and bone garment was placed onto the floor. Firelight illuminated her skin, he could see the faint white lines of stretch marks and scars and he loved it. She was real, she had lived a life and had the evidence to prove it. Reaching for her again he pulled her into an embrace and finally she could feel his body and his heat.

Skin made warm from pumping blood. He was so wonderfully alive!

Alive was how he felt. Ever since Sibyl's death he had been existing, now he felt alive. While the bed was close it seemed it had moved a thousand feet away and he groaned. Isobel took his hand and pulled him along with her. She broke the grip only to turn down the bed, as she laid down she sucked in a breath for the bedding was cool to the touch. This was remedied by Richard's warm body draping over her own.

His weight was welcome and she crossed her arms over him anchoring him to her. The solid bulk of him pressed against her and she could feel his chest expand with each breath he took. Craving more contact she tangled her legs with his. Entwined was the only word that Richard's brain could come with to express how he felt. In this moment he would give her anything, he would die for her gladly and he would kill for her without hesitation.

His left hand cupped a breast, "Tell me what you like."

She moaned in response.

The hand caressing her breast moved down, "here?"

She shook her head.

His hand moved to cup her hip, "here?"

She shook her head again yet he could see that she was biting her bottom lip. His hand moved the right, "here?"

She moaned wantonly and Richard had his answer. Fingertips explored and her mouth fell open in a pant. Richard's head was pillowed on her chest as his left hand moved. He could hear her heart. Breathing deeply through his nose he could smell her scent. Besides eating making love was the one activity where all the senses were involved. The sound of her heartbeat increased and he moved his head off of her chest to watch her. Eyes slammed shut, the tendons in her neck flexed, while her chest flushed a deep red-it was beautiful.

When she was calm he brought his hand to his lips and licked his fingers making sure all the senses had been catalogued. Her hands reached for him and he went to her. Legs shifted to accommodate him and he slid between them. The fire was warm against his back, Isobel was warm against his front and when he joined with her she warmed his heart. So long, it had been so long! Even though his length of celibacy rivaled a monks his body remembered how to seek pleasure. Palms and feet braced on the bed as his hips rocked forward. The soft skin of her thighs touched his and he threw his head back at the sensation. The feel of her, the way her body responded to his touches was intoxicating. He would gladly suffer any hangover she gave him. Isobel was trying to wrap her legs around his waist and was failing. Seeing her intent he reached above him and grabbed a pillow which he stuffed under her hips. The new angle and elevation allowed him more access. Isobel moaned as his next thrust rubbed against a certain spot. The feeling was encompassing and she cried out. Needing to hear her again he repeated his movement. Over and over she cried out and he continued his motions. Her eyes closed and he knew what was to happen next. Bracing his hands by her head he increased his pace so he could break with her.

Sybil, Reginald and Scottie were on the grounds at Downton. Sybil was pointing to a certain window. Reginald and Scottie saw a man in black suit cradling a baby.

"Do we need to help him too?" Scottie asked.

"Not yet, he's too wrapped up with her to need me yet." Sybil said.

Scottie looked down at his shoes.

Reginald and Sybil shared a look, Sybil knelt before him. "When and if I need help with Tom will you help me?"

Scottie's face lit up. "You'd let me help you again?"

Sybil laughed, "you were the one that got my mama to listen."

Reginald too knelt in front of Scottie, "If it wasn't for you Isobel wouldn't have known how to help Doctor Clarkson."

Socttie's face fell again, "He's going to be all right isn't he? I just wanted to know why my brothers can't play with me yet and he just told me was sorry."

Sybil held his hand, "Let me take care of that."


	8. Chapter 8

Isobel had fallen asleep nestled against Richard. Her rhythmic breathing along with the warmth of the fire had Richard relaxing. He had just made love to Isobel Crawley, the experience more than outdid any fantasy he had conjured up. The fire popped and he raised his hand to stroke along her back. His had moved in counterpoint to her breathing. It wasn't long before he too surrendered to sleep.

He was washing dishes in his small kitchen as Isobel hummed as she stitched in his front room. As his hand went to retrieve a dirty dish he noticed that it was seemingly floating before him. He turned his head and saw Sybil. Keeping silent he merely took the dish from her and began to wash it.

Sybil watched as his scrubbed the dish, "I don't blame you for my death. I'm sorry if I have given you that notion. I didn't know how to talk to you so I had some help."

Richard's clever mind was putting it all together, "The man in the brown suit" and Sybil nodded in confirmation.

"I'm still sorry." Richard whispered the dish plunging back into the soapy water.

"I know, we all do." She said knowingly.

Sybil smiled at Doctor Clarkson before he nodded in acknowledgement.

"Take care of those you love doctor." Sybil said her voice striving for a benevolent tone yet her eyes held a warning. She turned to leave the kitchen.

Richard's grip let go of the dish and it hit the bottom of the sink with a clang. He strode towards her, "Who is it? Who will be next?"

Sybil couldn't answer him but he knew he was right there was going to be _someone_.

In the morning Richard and Isobel made love again. The words of Sybil seemed to be etched on his brain. He held her to him as if this moment was all they were ever going to have. Each kiss was moment to be cherished. Isobel was overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. When he left Crawley House for his own she watched him through the window. Watching a man-her man stroll confidently through the village.

In the coming days Cora arranged for Isobel to attend a luncheon at the Abbey. Slowly all were coming out grief.

Isobel smiled as she saw Cora spin her teacup in the saucer, her four birthstone ring catching the light. "Has Sybil spoken to you?"

Cora smiled somewhat sadly while she was overjoyed that she and Robert had reconnected she still missed her daughter. "Yes, and I did what she asked. I don't think I'll see her for quite some time."

Isobel's head hung low, while she had found love again with Richard she knew the Reginald was truly gone having walked off with that young boy.

"Scottie" Isobel whispered.

At the name Cora's head snapped up. "Scottie?" She repeated.

Isobel could see the mixture of anticipation and shock on Cora's face. "I had a dream about Reginald the other night. He walked away with a small boy who I don't know-his name is Scottie."

The color had drained from Cora's face, "Sybil did the same thing, blonde child...maybe five?"

"Toy trucks" Isobel delivered and Cora nodded in affirmation.

The two women were shocked that both had dreamed of the same child and it _had _been the same child.

Months passed, and Richard and Isobel wed. The night before the ceremony Isobel came to him with a box. Inside were the photographs from her wedding to Reginald. As he looked at the photographs he was struck by two things. The first was that Isobel had been a beautiful bride and the second was that he recognized the bridegroom. Reginald Crawley was the man from his dream, the man in the brown suit. Mr. Crawley had admonished him to find a good nurse and he had done.

With the news of Mary's pregnancy the dreams had all but been forgotten. Isobel and Cora were both overjoyed to welcome the baby. For Cora another grandchild would be at Downton and for Isobel she would be seeing her first.

The night before the family left for Scotland Richard dreamt of Sybil. She was in her nursing grey's and didn't speak to him in her hand he recognized one of toys of young Scott Freeman. When Richard woke he had a strange foreboding. He mentioned his feeling to Isobel but left out the vision of Sybil. She assuaged his fears over Mary.

Matthew was enjoying Duneagle, at night as he cradled his wife's blossoming body against his he felt content. His dreams were filled with children, he often wondered in his waking hours what his child would look like. Would it be a boy or a girl? His dream tonight was filled with a playground, he could hear the chants of girls as they skipped rope. As he looked at the children playing he saw a young blonde child smashing his toy trucks together. The boy saw him and waved and Matthew returned it heartily.

Tom Branson had never stopped loving his wife. As he wept tears on Elsie Hughes he knew that he could never let her go. That night as he went to bed he dreamed of the rolling hills of Ireland. He had taken Sybil along this route, as the car bumped along he reduced his speed.

"It's beautiful" A voice gasped.

Tom turned and saw Sybil sitting in the passenger seat staring out at the landscape.

"I'd rather look at you." Tom said truthfully.

Sybil placed her hand on the dashboard, "Stop"

The car slowed before stopping. Sybil shook her head, "You can love again, I want you to."

"I don't want to." Tom said bitterly.

"Yes you do." Sybil said.

"I can't bear this. Please tell me that you're coming for me." He said shakily.

She held his face in her hands, wiped his tears before kissing his lips, "Not yet. Not yet."

The dead themselves never knew the exact moment a person they had loved would be joining them they only had a vague sense of the time. Reginald knew who was coming and Sybil had felt it too. She had gone to Clarkson for her own comfort and for she knew that he was one of the few that could soothe the oncoming pain.

When Mary had come back to Downton and delivered everyone seemed to release their collective held breath. Richard had been overjoyed to see Isobel so happy at the birth of her grandson. She had happily gone to the Abbey to give the news. It wasn't until men carrying the broken body of Matthew Crawley into the hospital that Richard understood what Sybil had tried to convey...the whispers of the dead.

**A/N: ****Unsure whether to leave it here or continue. **Again I am not a mind reader. 


	9. Chapter 9

Seamless, it had been seamless. One moment Matthew had been speeding along his life forever changed now that he was a father to a son. He looked up at the sky and saw the wondrous blue, the next moment he saw blue again in the eyes of his own father. That couldn't be, his father was long dead. The realization that he too was now dead didn't sit well with him. He raged at the injustice of it. He shouted with pure venom. Lashing out at his father out of convenience. Reginald allowed his son his anger until he gently said,  
Enough."

That one word was enough for Matthew to settle, that was the one word his father said to him during his tantrums. The rage morphed to sadness as he cried over his own death. The last time his father had held as he wept he had been just a small child.

Reginald, Sybil and many others knew the pain he was feeling. Sybil had felt it more than Reginald had. Unlike the others Reginald had _known_ he was dying. This awareness had allowed him a broader perspective to review his life. Age was creeping up on him and he felt himself grow weak. Physician's had an odd habit of dismissing their own symptoms. If a patient had presented with his symptoms he would have had them sent to hospital. Days later he suffered a heart attack managing to survive but in the days after he could feel himself slowly leave his body. When death had come it was simply the natural end to his journey, the next thing to do on his list. Sybil and Matthew had been unaware and unprepared for their demise. Sybil hadn't been lucid during her transition, the grueling labor and then the eclampsia had robbed her of her senses leaving only pain. When the pain had stopped she had discovered that she had made the transition.

For Matthew it had been instantaneous and he hadn't felt a thing. One moment he was in his car, the next he was face to face with his father.

At the hospital Clarkson broke out the sedatives. No doubt there would be plenty who would be in need of them. Cora refused to be sedated, she welcomed the insomnia. She busied herself with Mary, trying to get her to eat. In the end it was a threat from Doctor Clarkson that got her to eat.

Mary hadn't uttered a word since learning of Matthew's death. She nodded or shook her head to communicate. She watched as family members came and went all of them whispering platitudes. After the fourth person sat by her bed she was bored with it all. All she wanted was to be left alone, yet she wasn't. People sat next to her and said pure nonsense. To register a protest she refused food. It was the only way she felt in control of anything! Her husband was dead, she once again belonged to her father. Everyone seemed to be making decisions for her, the only thing she could control was what and if she ate. A figure passed by the glass door. Mary looked up and saw the Doctor enter the ward, his white coat capturing her attention.

Before her was the standard hospital tray with food. The nurses had warned her that she would need to eat to keep her milk supply up. The baby was not gaining weight, it had been a week and he had yet to regain his birth weight. If this carried on they would either need to find a wet nurse or begin the percentage method. Clarkson wasn't worried about the baby, one way or another he _would_ be fed. It was Mary he was concerned with. Cora had tried bribing Mary with her favorite foods and the nurses had tried cajoling her to take a few bites here and there. Clarkson was reaching the end of his limits. He eyes raked over her tray seeing that it was untouched, swiftly he retrieved the clipboard from the foot of the bed and began writing orders on it.

"If this food isn't gone in half an hour I will personally force feed you." He told her. Clarkson had performed it once on a psychiatric patient during one of his rotations. It was a procedure he hoped he would never have to repeat.

As she looked up at him she could see that his eyes held the same pain that she knew hers held. While Matthew wasn't his husband she knew that Clarkson loved his Mother and perhaps Matthew too. All he had ever tried to do was help, she thought of Sybil and the night she had died. Doctor Clarkson had shouted his case. From the look he wore he wouldn't be on the _losing _side ofanymore arguments. She grabbed the sandwich and took a bite. This was the only victory that Clarkson seemed to have. Isobel wasn't speaking to him he didn't take it personally, she wasn't speaking to anyone for that matter.

The only sounds she had made since Matthew's death had been sobs. She cried in the bathtub, she cried over the teakettle, she cried in her husbands's arms. She slept fitfully only a half hour here and there. Truth be told Isobel was afraid to sleep, she didn't want to dream. She didn't want to see Matthew and then wake only for him to be gone a second time. The armchair in the cottage seemed to be her permanent place. Tonight she sat watching the fire that Richard had lit. Her thighs registered a weight looking down she saw a tray with a bowl of soup. Looking up she saw her husband, he looked haggard. Patients all day at the hospital only to come home to another patient.

"How are you?" She asked her voice croaking since she hadn't used it in about ten days.

He leaned on the wall next to the fire, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm not going to lie...I'm tired I could use some rest."

"I'm sorry." She answered, she knew that she too had had a hand in his fatigue.

He stood up, "You can make it up to me...eat."

Picking up her spoon she did as she was asked. He smiled at another victory with food as his ally.

No one at the Abbey was sleeping either, there were arrangements to be made. Graspies had taken Matthew to prepare him for burial. The plot needed to be secured and since the heir of Grantham was to be buried a large headstone needed to be ordered. Lawyers had descended onto Downton as well and Lord Robert had cloistered himself with them. The servants were busy and Cora split her time between letter writing and Mary.

The day came for the burial and the whole of Downton seemed to be present. Mary ignored them all while she was eatting she had still refused to speak. Isobel openly wept as her son's coffin was lowered into the ground. To her this was the truly the end of her son. When his body was at the hospital and then at Graspies she could almost convince herself that he was just at the Abbey or at his Law Office in Ripon. Knowing that his body was in the oak casket, to have the earth piled on top, for him to never return finally had reduced her to tears.

That night as she got ready for bed she asked for a sedative.

"Are you sure?" Richard asked, he noted that she was nearly dead on her feet. She should have no trouble sleeping.

"Yes, I want a powder. I don't want to dream." She said softly and he understood. His bag was opened and he retrieved the powder and mixed it up with care making sure there were no clumps. He got into bed and Isobel followed. She arranged herself against him and drank down the mixture. His warm hand came over hers to take the glass away. Within minutes she was asleep and he held her. Hoping the powder and his presence would be enough to keep the dreams away.

With his wife asleep Richard too closed his eyes. Would Matthew appear? He hadn't had a chance at resuscitation. Richard had known the instant the men had carried in Matthew's body. It had hung limply, the chest not moving and his skin already fading to an ash color. All he could do was place the body on a bed in the back and clean him up. Wiping the the blood from his brow and mouth. He had pulled down the eyelids closing the once vibrant blue eyes now dull with the pupils fixed and wide. After his face had been cleaned Richard had taken a comb and had gently removed the earth that had lodged in his hair. Matthew's neck had been broken as well as good number of his ribs from the weight of the car. If his neck snapping hadn't killed him instantly then the rib piercing the heart would have done it. There were no nightstick or other defensive wounds letting Richard know that Matthew hadn't seen it coming, death had been quick.

When Isobel had returned to the hospital after announcing the birth of the new heir Richard had been waiting for her. Over the years he had broken the news of death to countless people. He watched as the joy on her face turned to suspicion. When he approached her she retreated. Finally he had taken hold of her arms. When she was still he finally led her down the corridor so she could see her son.

A chair had been placed by the bed and she sat it in. Her fingers shaking as she reached out and adjusted his hair on his brow. Richard watched her and thought of Sybil, how she had warned him.

_Take care of those you love doctor._

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**A/N: All have asked for this to continue so it shall. Again I am no mind reader.**


	10. Chapter 10

Isobel got what she had wished for, her sleep was deep and unfettered by dreams. Richard too slept soundly. When he awoke he found his wife still snuggled against him and he sighed in contentment. Isobel had spoken to him, they had shared a bed once more. Subconsciously his hand rose and began stroking up and and down her back. The cloth of her nightgown whispered with each touch and Richard found the sound soothing. Isobel hummed in her sleep before waking. He watched as consciousness returned to her. Since Matthew had died the pattern had been her eyes would open, she would asses the room and then cry. The tears would fade and then she would either flee to the Abbey or Crawley House. Since her marriage she had moved her residence to Richard's cottage. Nonetheless, Lord Robert had insisted that Isobel keep Crawley House. She used it as a base for her charity work, the countless pieces of paper and letters being stored there. Also the address held more clout than the cottage address. Richard was waiting for the pattern to start. However, when her brown eyes met he saw that they weren't filling with tears. Instead she reached out a hand to his face and touched it. He was stunned, she barely touched him yet it felt as powerful as a punch. He knew that he couldn't bring Matthew back but he could help her feel alive. His fist closed over a measure of her nightgown and pulled it up and off while her own hands began pushing his pajamas off. Both of their bodies were still warm with sleep and seemed to burn as they came together. Quickly he rolled her beneath him and with a shift of a hip she was full.

Richard groaned at the feeling, and began kissing her neck knowing she liked it. It was about time she felt something good. Keeping his movements slow he rocked against her gently. The brown of her eyes had become thin rings another testament that she was enjoying herself. Her moans was melodious especially after her long silence.

Empty, she had felt hollowed out at the news of Matthew. Yet with Richard's body pleasuring hers she felt as though she could be almost be whole. Her fingers sought his and she twined their fingers together. As she looked at their clasped hands she saw that her skin was old. It lacked the elasticity of youth, it needed some cream and she had brown age spots. Richard's hand as well showed these things yet it was those things that she loved. Life! They had both lived a life. A brief pang of sorrow coursed through her at the fact that Matthew was dead. This feeling was transmuted as her husband kissed her neck again. She would go on, she would live for her son as well as herself and those she loved. Raising her legs she secured them over Richard's lower back and he moaned in response.

Her heart softened at his moan, he too hadn't been immune from all of this. She had been too wrapped up in her own grief to notice. Tightening her legs brought forth another moan wanting more she she ran her fingertips over the expanse of his back eliciting another verbal response. She tried to infuse each touch with an apology, each caress became a promise-I will _always _be by your side. She watched him as he began to lose control and held him close whispering her promise to him.

Afterwards he still held her to him in a protective embrace against foes corporeal and noncorporeal. Isobel would take another powder tonight, she wasn't ready to see Matthew...not yet.

Matthew himself was frustrated for he couldn't reach his mother. Reginald and Sybil had tried to soothe him. He ignored the good natured lectures of his father and sister-in-law and went in search of another.

Sleep was only had at the hospital, Mary slept. In fact she began to spend more time sleeping than she did awake. Many around her suspected depression. For Mary the only time she was happy was when she was asleep. Matthew was with her again, they walked hand in hand. Dreams were where Mary could smile and laugh. When she was awake she went through the motions, waiting for a time when she could snuggle down into her pillow and be reunited.

Doctor Clarkson had finally discharged her and the baby and they went home to Downton. Mrs. Patmore was already familiar with the percentage method and everything was at the ready. Days gave way to weeks and then to months. Mary continued her pattern of sleeping as much as she could, keeping everyone at bay with icy glares. Black dresses became her battle dress uniform and she shunned all color. She resented Isobel for she could see that the woman was picking up the pieces of her life. True Isobel wasn't her usual upbeat-optimistic-jovial self but it she was engaged in living. She worked alongside Doctor Clarkson in the hospital and she came to play with George.

_George, _she had finally named the baby. Matthew and she had laid in bed going over names. While he hadn't actually voiced his preference she knew he had especially liked that one. George was the constant reminder that Matthew was gone. Born on the same day Matthew had died. Everyone tried to coax Mary out from Anna to Lord Grantham. It was useless as long as Matthew was in her dreams she had no reason to change.

It became worse when he started to leave them. It was a rare occurrence that the dead would constantly plague the living. Matthew was furious at this fact.

"Why can't I stay?" He shouted like a petulant child.

"She won't be able to live if you stay." Reginald told his son.

"You don't understand." Matthew said bitterly.

Reginald's eyebrows rose, "You think I don't? I've watched your mother for years. Part of me thrilled that she never found anyone and a part of me sad. Let me tell you this when Richard Clarkson dies I will welcome him and shake his hand."

With Matthew leaving her dreams Mary plunged further into depression. Remembering the threat from Dr. Clarkson she ate but all around her saw that she picked at her food. Her attitude towards George had changed, she didn't hate him, in fact she pitied him and called him an orphan. It was this action that led others to finally realize that the time for Mary to wallow in grief was over. She could wear black for the end of her days if she wished but she _had _to engage with her son and with the outside world.


	11. Chapter 11

There are none so blind as those who will not see. Tom Branson's mother had told him and Kieran that over and over when they were young. He had ignored her as most young boys do. However,as of late his Mother's words were rebounding in his skull like a rubber ball colliding off of walls.

Mary was in need of help. He tried drawing her out at breakfast only to be intercepted by Lord Robert. For Tom this was par for the course, he had never played golf but being around all the starched shirts he had picked up the vernacular.

That night he dreamed he was in his dark green chauffeurs uniform, driving around Sybil. She knocked a fist on the roof to garner his attention.

He turned and smiled at her in relief, "Are you here for me my darling?"

Her hand stroked his cheek, "Not yet, but I need you to listen to me."

Tom nodded hurriedly and bullied his brain to commit what she was going to tell him to memory.

"It's Mary, you need to help her." Sybil began.

At this Tom shook his head in resignation, "I've tried, it's your father that is being the obstruction!"

Sybil regarded her husband, she had been warned by the others the changes that could occur to a loved one after a passing. She had truly believed that her husband would remain the steadfast-political-rogue. What she saw before her was a man who had all but accepted defeat.

"It never stopped you before" she whispered.

At this he dissolved into sobs, "I miss you so much! Sybbie looks so much like you. I go on for her but I miss you so."

Sybil took his hands, "Will you help me?"

"Of course I will, just promise me that it will be you who comes for me."

Sybil kissed his lips, "Only when it's time. Until then you need to live, be the Tom that I fell in love with. Read your socialist papers and conveniently leave them where papa will see them."

He chuckled weakly at her words and swore that he would do as she asked.

Anna had taken Mary's black shawl claiming it needed cleaning. She was determined that Lady Mary have some color no matter how small. Not wanting to overwhelm her she laid out a pearl grey shawl. Lady Mary's eyes raked over the offending item yet she took it. She was still mostly clad in black. She went outside with Tom to escape her parents.

As the two walked along Tom bent down and retrieved a twig and began snapping it into pieces. At the noise Mary stopped walking and watched him.

"why are you doing that?" She asked in an annoyed tone.

Tom inwardly smiled, "It's fun" He bent down and retrieved another twig and handed it to her, "here you have a go."

She rolled her eyes at him but nonetheless began snapping the twig, he was right it gave an feeling of satisfaction.

Tom waited, he watched her break the up twig. When she was done he could tell her hands were itching to do it again. "Not many twigs here, better ones to the North."

"You're an expert on twigs are you?" Mary asked.

"No, but I've come across a lot going from farm to farm with the sheep." He informed.

Mary's memory sparked, she had been walking with Matthew. They had made their way across an abandoned farm, equipment eerily still. Matthew had been adamant that they only way to keep the estate was to farm the land properly and actually have the land earn money instead of spend it. A chilling thought occurred to her with Matthew's death her father would be in charge of Downton Abbey. Would he too abandon all the changes that Matthew had thought necessary in order to keep it?

The modest estate her mother had nicknamed Downton Place came to mind. Was that to be her new home?

"Tell me about the sheep. Tell me about the farms." She demanded.

Tom was still smiling when he came back into the Abbey only to be met by the stern and dour face of Lord Grantham. "What were you and Mary doing for so long?"

"She wanted to know about the estate so I told her." Tom said cheerfully.

Lord Robert shook his head, "She is far too fragile."

"I don't think so" Tom replied.

Lord Robert scowled, his foot twitched as though he was going to stamp it in a tantrum. "I'm here father, I know what she needs."

Tom refused to be scolded, "With all due respect you have no idea what she needs."

Lord Robert's eyes narrowed, "And you do?"

Tom spoke softly, "Yes, I do. I know what it is like to love someone so fully. To marry that someone, to make a new life only to gain a child and lose your spouse in the same breath!"

That night Sybil came to Tom to thank him. As Tom saw Sybil drift towards him he didn't ask her if she was here for him he simply enjoyed her presence.

Also in the night Matthew came to Mary. Instead of them picking up where they had left off Mary kept her distance from him. Matthew saw this, "Are you angry that I left?"

Mary huffed out a breath, she had been angry that he had died. Angry that he had left her alone with a new child to care for. She had been angry again when the dreams of him had begun to fade away. "Oh Matthew, don't you remember? I was angry that you came. I was angry that you stayed, then you left and I was angry. It's what I'm good at."

Matthew's face shifted into a grin, "Yes! You are good at that but you can transmute that into other things." He came closer to her and kissed her mouth blindly as he had done the night before their wedding. "I'll be here."

Mary knew he was not bidding a final farewell merely that he would see her another time. As he walked away she knew it was time for her to re-enter the land of the living. The next day was the farmer's luncheon she dressed before Anna came to her and entered the luncheon wearing a soft purple ensemble.

Slowly the lives that had been tied to Matthew Reginald Crawley began to move as they once did. Years passed, one particular winter Isobel developed a cold. She ignored it and went about her duties. When it morphed into bronchitis she still carried on. Richard had heard the changes in his wife and began treatment. No matter what he did the bronchitis would not abate. He knew pneumonia would be next, he also knew that he would lose. Sybil had visited him wearing her nursing greys. Isobel was now wheezing in her sleep, no matter how many pillows Richard piled behind her her lungs still whistled. He sat vigil next to her in a chair combating her fever. Isobel's fever brought dreams.

In Crawley House Richard could see the pattern of her labored breathing begin to lengthen. He bowed his head next to his wife's ear and whispered, "Go."

Reginald and Matthew were waving to her and she waved back. Their hands beckoned to her and she went to them willingly.

Isobel was buried next to her son, with her death Doctor Clarkson retired. His retirement lasted a week, long enough for him to box up what was left of Isobel's things from Crawley House before Isobel came for him. In his dream he was once again caught in the rainstorm, his bicycle leaning up against the wall of the building he was taking shelter under. She appeared beside him, he turned and emitted a low cry. She held out her hand and he took it eagerly. As they waked out into the rain together it stopped. The stone and dirt path soon gave way to the smooth paved roads of the village. Together they walked until they came to an obstacle just outside of the hospital. What looked like an army stood before him, as he looked over each face he saw that these were the people that had died under his care. Off to one side he saw, Matthew, Reginald and Sybil. He looked back towards the hoard of people gathered. Was he going to be shouted at? Was he going to be reprimanded in some way?

It was young Scottie Freeman who came forth from the crowd. He came up to Richard wearing a broad smile and held out one of his trucks, which Richard took before Scottie asked, "Are you going to come and play?"

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**A/N: Thank you to all who have read and reviewed. I do hope you enjoyed it all.**


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